


and Lucius will never know

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cock Rings, Community: daily_deviant, Community: kinky_kristmas, Desk Sex, Kinky Kristmas Fest, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Harry's not fond of the Manor, but maybe a new memory will help.





	and Lucius will never know

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in December for the Kinky Kristmas fest at Daily Deviant.

“Just give me five minutes to find the text.” Draco touches Harry’s shoulder lightly before pulling away, walking into the library. “I know you aren’t fond of the Manor.”

“That’s like saying I’m not fond of being a patient at St. Mungo’s,” Harry says dryly. He follows Draco into the room; when Draco spares a glance, he’s at the desk in the center, running his finger over the oak top as he continues speaking. “Draco, this place featured in my nightmares for a few years.”

“Which is why we don’t live here.” Draco summons the ladder, climbs easily to search through the books near the ceiling. “You didn’t have to come with me.”

“You’re doing this research for me,” Harry points out, which Draco cannot deny.

“It is on your behalf, yes, but you don’t need to be present.” Draco touches the ladder and it slides sideways, just far enough for him to spot the book tucked away at the top of an arch above one window. He leans up on his toes, gets his fingers on it and tugs. The book tugs back, and not for the first time, Draco wishes that summoning spells weren’t prohibited in the Malfoy library.

Academically, he knows exactly why they’re prohibited, and he understands the protections set over the books. But it does make things inconvenient.

He finally manages to pull the book from the shelf and tuck it under his arm before he turns to glance down. He stops, gripping the siderails of the ladder tightly. “Harry. What are you doing?”

“Getting ready.”

Draco swallows hard. Harry’s sat on the desk, and while Draco watches, Harry leans back, hitches himself further onto the broad oak surface. He lies back, one knee bent, falling outward just a little as Harry palms his crotch.

The bulge is visible even from this distance.

“Getting ready for what, exactly?” Draco turns his back on Harry, has to in order to get down the ladder safely.

“You,” Harry says, the sound of his zip sliding down accompanying the one word.

“Harry, this is neither the time nor the—” Words fail when Draco turns back around, finds Harry with his zip pushed wide, prick already red and leaking as Harry strokes it. “Fuck.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Harry leverages himself up on one elbow. “The Manor’s all bad memories for me, Draco. Help me out here, and give me a good one.”

“On my father’s desk?” Draco winces when his voice cracks sharply. “Harry, we—”

“Your parents are in France.” Harry pushes himself back to sitting, slides to the edge of the desk. His prick wobbles in the breeze, a thin tendril of fluid falling to drip on the carpet below. “The elves wouldn’t dare say a word.” He wriggles and shoves down his jeans and pants, kicks them off to one side.

Harry’s bare arse is pressed against the smooth oak surface of the desk where Lucius Malfoy handles the family accounts. The desk where Lucius writes his correspondence, drafts notes and memoirs.

Draco stumbles a step forward. “Harry.”

“Your father is never, ever going to hear about this,” Harry whispers, crooking his finger and Draco takes another step, as if Harry reels him in on an invisible line. When Harry falls back slowly, grabbing his knees and spreading them so his arse is on perfect display, Draco knows he’s lost.

He simply can’t resist.

Draco strips off his robes and drops them to one side. The rest he simply vanishes, so he’s naked by the time he hits his knees. It puts him on the perfect level to put his hands on the insides of Harry’s thighs, pushing them apart, spreading him for Draco to see.

“Draco,” Harry whispers, and Draco obliges him by answering the silent request, lapping at Harry’s hole.

He’s clean, and tastes faintly of lubricant, as if he prepared himself beforehand. Draco gently presses one finger in, finds that once he breaches the tight ring, the way is eased. “Fuck, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry exhales. “Hard and fast, Draco. Fuck me until I see stars.”

Harry planned this. Harry planned to defile the library with sexual relations, to make it so that the next time Draco has to meet with his father in this room, all he’ll be able to see if Harry spread out on the desk, wantonly begging to be fucked.

Just for that, Draco is going to take it slow at first. He’s going to make Harry wait for satisfaction.

Draco presses the flat of his tongue against Harry’s hole, holds his thighs so that he can’t possibly move. He licks at him, soaking him while Harry squirms, moaning loudly. “More,” Harry begs, and Draco obliges him in that at least, adding a second finger.

He conjures lubricant; while there is some preparation, there isn’t nearly enough, not for the way Harry wants to be fucked. Draco makes him sloppy and slick, wet inside and out, pushing four fingers in until Harry’s opened wide and ready.

Draco rises, grips Harry’s prick tightly, wraps his fingers around the base. His prick is already sticky with fluid, a small puddle on Harry’s skin. “How close are you?” Draco murmurs.

Harry’s hips jerk as Draco strokes him. “Close,” he admits.

Draco unties the band from his own hair, wraps it around the base of Harry’s cock and taps it to knot it magically, shrinking it until it’s just tight enough. He smirks at Harry’s whine. “Wouldn’t want this to be over too soon, now would we?”

“You just don’t want me to come on the desk,” Harry mutters.

Draco positions himself, slides in easily, bollocks deep on the first thrust. “Oh no,” he whispers, leaning over to brush a kiss against Harry’s lips. “I know you want to leave your mark, and you will do that. When we’re both ready.”

“Yes.” The words is a low hiss, long and sibilant as Draco withdraws, and fucks back in hard. Harry grabs onto his knees, holds himself wide open, while Draco anchors himself with a grip on his hips.

Draco pistons into him, fucking him hard enough that Harry slides on the slick oak surface, sweat beading and leaving tracks. Slick drips between them, falling to the carpet. Harry cries out, knuckles white while he grips his legs.

Draco can feel the orgasm building, and it’s too soon. He’s not ready to let this just be _done_ , not this quick. He slides one finger along Harry’s prick, presses against the slit at the tip. “How’re you feeling now, Harry?”

“Fuck.” Harry opens his eyes, pupils blown dark, flush underlying his dark skin. His gaze is distant, floating. When Draco palms his cheek, Harry turns to kiss his fingers. “So good,” Harry whispers. “Don’t stop.”

“Just for a moment.” Draco pulls out, tugs Harry until he slides off the desk, landing on unsteady legs. Harry is pliant, easy to move as Draco repositions him, lying on the desk, arse in the air. Draco nudges his legs apart, then easily slides back in as Harry’s back arches and he moans loudly. It’s a better angle for both of them, and Draco can fuck him hard and deep, tilting his hips to get just the right angle.

Every thrust pushes Harry against the desk, leaving drips against the side of the wood. “Draco,” Harry begs. “Fuck, Draco. I want to—please let me… fuck. Please.”

“Yeah.” Draco releases the tie, wraps his fingers around Harry’s prick and wanks him quickly as Harry shudders, clamping down tightly on him as he comes. There’s no way for Draco to hold back, his orgasm rushing through him. He groans, lets go of Harry so he can brace his hands against the desk, body tense until the waves pass through him.

He catches Harry and himself, brings them both to the carpet. Above them, Draco’s handprint—painted in Harry’s fluids—drips from the edge of the desk. Harry’s come slides down the side in thick white stripes.

“Much better memory,” Harry murmurs, patting Draco’s chest with a sticky hand. “Give me five minutes, we’ll clean up.”

It doesn’t have to be five minutes. They’ve got days yet, before anyone else will be in the Manor. Draco kisses Harry’s forehead. “Or give us both an hour, and we’ll have another go,” he suggests.

After all, it’s the best memory Draco’s ever made in this room as well.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com). If you like my fic, you might also like my original work at [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


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